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The Grey Farmhouse

“It
seems like not so long ago,” James said. “But it’s been a
lifetime.”

He strolled along
a path that wound around an apple tree. There it stood an early
twentieth century farmhouse; grey trimmed in white. Much of the paint
had peeled. Below the peeled paint was another layer of gray. At one
time it seemed majestic and protective, now it was humble and
ran-down.

“What happened
to her?” James mumbled.

“Why did you
want to come back,” Sylvia said from two steps behind James.

“Sometimes when
you leave in a hurry you leave things behind,” James said.

“It looks like
nobody has lived here in years,” Sylvia said catching up with James
and holding his hand.

“There’s
something in there and I have to see it,” James said. “I don’t
know what it is, but when I see it or feel it I’ll know. I’ll
know immediately.”

“I think you
should go in and look around,” Sylvia said.

“Do you want to
go in with me?” James said.

“I don’t
think so,” Sylvia said and released James’ hand. “Take as long
as it takes.”

James forced the
unlocked back door open. He entered the back porch. It was incredible
to him. He smiled; thirty years had not extinguished the odor or
memories. He passed through the kitchen and stopped. He remembered
his mother cooking on the stove and working over the kitchen sink. He
remembered her looking out at the apple tree as she did the dishes
and singing “Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but
me, anyone else but me, anyone else but me."

A flood memories
rushed in like a bursting dam. It was overwhelming. He hurried to the
steps in the dinning room that led upstairs and sat. He hung his head
and sobbed.

After a few
minutes he returned to his feet and inspected each room. He pushed
aside remnants of discarded and untaken items from the last resident.
There was nothing found to purge or refresh his memory any further.

“Something is
here,” James muttered. “I could not have come all this way for
nothing.”

At last he
entered his old room. He closed his eyes slowly. He recalled the
hours spent there dreaming, planning, fretting, wondering, doubting,
and at last in a fury of anger… left; never to return until this
moment.

Suddenly
something drew him to a corner of the room. He looked into one of the
cracks of the floor boards. There was something lodged in the crack.
He pulled out a pocket knife and dislodged it.

“A coin,”
James said. “The coin.”

He flipped it,
smiled, and dropped it in his pocket. He walked to doorway of the
room, turned, and smiled. “That’s it!” James said.

James bolted from
the house as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Let’s go
Sylvia,” James said. “We have one more stop.”

“Is everything
okay?” Sylvia asked.

“Oh yes,”
James said. “I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

The got in the
car and drove away.

James smiled.
“Remember I told you about the beating I got from Uncle Irv?”

“Yes,” Sylvia
said. “It was horrible.”

“He accused me
of stealing one of his coins. I denied it. He didn’t believe me. We
got into a shouting match. He came after me and cornered me in my
room. He beat me until I felt nothing. I should have gone to the
hospital, but Mom knew that if I went there would be questions and
Uncle Irv would end up in jail. There would have been no one to work
the farm.”

“Your mom
should have done something,” Sylvia said.

“She did,”
James said. “She took care of me.”

“But you never
took the coin, right?” Sylvia said.

“Not then,”
James said. “Later I found the coin in his chair. I didn’t want
to embarrass good ole Uncle Irv and make him feel bad so I took the
coin and hid it. I figured I already got a beating for it.”

“Was the coin
valuable?” Sylvia said. “An 1804 silver dollar. I t may be worth
a couple of million and it’s in my pocket right now. I just found
it. It was right where I hid it.”

“You got to be
kidding!” Sylvia said. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going to
pay Uncle Irv a visit,” James said. “He’s in a nursing home.”

A half hour later
James sat in a chair next to an crumple up bitter looking old man,
Uncle Irv.

“Do you know
who I am?” James said.

“James,” Irv
scowled.

“That’s
right, Uncle Irv,” James said.

“Do you
remember the beating you gave me when you accused me of stealing your
coin?” James said.

“Nurse!” Irv
said.

“Look, Uncle
Irv,” James said. “If it takes them an hour to clean the sheets
around this place and wipe your ass what makes you think they can
come in time to save you? Besides, I’m here to visit you and give
you a word of good cheer.”

“What is it you
want?”

James held the
coin in front of Irv’s eyes. “See it, Uncle Irv. I found it no
more than forty-five minutes ago. It’s been in the house all this
time.”

Irv reached for
it. James quickly returned it to his pocket.

“It’s mine,”
Irv said.

“Good day Uncle
Irv,” James said.

James shut the
door to Irv’s room and returned to the car.

“Do you still
have the coin?” Sylvia said.

“Yes,” James
said. “Can we go past the house one more time?”

“Sure,”
Sylvia said.

As they drove
down the road the gray farm-house sat, it slowly came in to view from
below the horizon.

“What do you
think of it?” James said.

“It’s a grey
farm-house,” Sylvia said. “It hasn’t changed in the last hour.”

From Kenton Lewis: You Must Read This First To Know What The Heck Goes On Here

This site contains mostly fiction. Currently a novel is posted every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday entitled Beyond Beyond. It is broken down into short episodes between two and four pages each. Thus, if you enter on anything other than episode 1, it would be good the scroll down to find previous episodes.

The archives are full of short stories. Some short stories are very short, just one posting. Others are broken down into episodes also.

Every post contains 350 to 1,500 words.

Anyway, I hope you visit several times a week.

In addition, this site is free of promotions and advertising except for the sale of Kenton Lewis books. That's a hint. Otherwise just tuck a $20 bill in an envelop and email me for my address.

This Is He

Taken shortly after my beheading. I refused to give up coffee. "Not from my cold dead hands!"